


Paws for Thought

by Mottlemoth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Charming Greg Lestrade, Flirting, Get it Greggles, Larry the Downing Street Cat, M/M, Meowstrade, Mycroft is Hopeless with Flirting, Mystrade with Cats, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth
Summary: Dropping by Mycroft's office one day, Greg Lestrade discovers a softer side to the Ice Man.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 27
Kudos: 388





	Paws for Thought

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working steadily through my ficlet collection, separating the longer ones out into works of their own. Y'all know I love my Meowstrade. <3 It's about time this one got to stand on its own four paws.

"Sorry to turn up unannounced, Mr Holmes. I was just wondering— _wow."_

It's quite a sight to walk in on: Mr Power himself, the man, the legend, slumped in his desk chair with his tie pulled open and an ordinary moggy curled up in his lap. It's not even a posh cat. It's got white patches and tabby patches, and it's currently fast asleep, as comfortable on Mycroft as if it's been napping there for several hours.

Mycroft himself, glancing up from the very weariest of thoughts, beckons Greg into the room.

"Not at all, inspector," he says, audibly exhausted. "How can I help?"

Greg came to ask about Sherlock—how he's doing after John's wedding, if Mycroft has heard anything from him lately—but suddenly all he wants to know about is the cat. He's never seen Mycroft like this. 

It makes him smile, unsure why.

"Is that Larry?" he asks. "He's the PM's cat, isn't he? I've seen him on telly."

Mycroft gives a quiet snort. 

"He's now out-lasted two prime ministers," he says, "and will almost certainly out-last a third. Larry is Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office. A civil servant, transferred between governments." Mycroft's fingers stir through the cat's fur as he speaks, stroking gentle circles. "He and I endure the ever-whirling carousel of morons together."

Greg's heart tugs.

"Didn't know you like cats," he says.

"I don't," Mycroft responds, eyeing him with a slight frown. "This one is the exception. I assure you."

 _Oh yeah?_ Greg just about keeps his grin under wraps. "Seems as if he likes you, anyway."

"Mhm. He and I... share circumstances. It's pleasant that he visits me." Mycroft shifts a little, resting his head against the back of his chair, and closes his eyes. He looks tired to the bone. "Did you need something from me, Lestrade? I've had a rather trying day."

"Oh—no, just touching base, really. Haven't dropped by in a while." Greg hesitates, watching Mycroft's fingers curl gently in Larry's fur. It's a practiced stroke. 

_This happens often,_ he thinks, _doesn't it? He knows you're good for fuss when he wants some._

It takes a second to think of something to say, his mind a little blown by that wide-open tie and the scattered blades of fur on Mycroft's deep grey trousers. 

"You're having a tough time of things at the minute, are you?"

Mycroft grunts softly, too tired to put it into words.

"All the stuff in the news?" Greg says. "That's your problem now, I guess."

"Everything is my problem," Mycroft murmurs, his eyes still closed. "I've rather started to question why I do it, frankly." His forehead tenses, as if he's only just now come to this realisation. "I can't quite recall what's in it for me."

 _Christ._ Greg has never heard Mycroft talk like this. He's never really heard him _talk_ at all. Unless it's been about Sherlock, they've hardly ever spoken, and even then they've never spoken for long.

"Anything a drink'll fix?" he offers, hopefully.

Mycroft opens one eye. He peers at Greg for a second of silence, bewildered. 

"I'm despairing, Lestrade," he says. "Not dehydrated. You've confused me for a pot plant."

Greg grins, undeterred. "I didn't mean a glass of water, mate."

Mycroft searches his face. "What _did_ you mean?"

"I meant an alcoholic drink," Greg says. "In a bar, tonight. With me. Somewhere we can commiserate together, share our woes... maybe even get to know each other."

Mycroft's eyes widen slightly. "Is that what people mean by 'drink'?"

Greg has a feeling this is a bit of a revelation. 

"Doesn't have to be a bar, if you don't want," he says. "Drop round my house tonight. I'm sure you've got the power to hunt down my address, haven't you?"

Mycroft says nothing for a moment, surveying Greg as if trying desperately to work something out. He seems utterly baffled. 

"Inspector, I'm unaccustomed to casual social parlance," he says. "I don't wish to misunderstand you."

"What's to misunderstand?" Greg asks, smiling, and eases his hands into his pockets. "Come round for a drink. We'll make up the rest from there."

"But to what end?" Mycroft asks.

Greg shrugs. He lets his smile pull the corners of his mouth higher. 

"Unwinding," he says. "Remembering that life's not all about work." He glances at Larry with amusement. "I'm not that soft, and I probably won't fit in your lap, but... a little time to relax with some company might do you good."

The baffled expression continues. It tightens, as Mycroft visibly prepares the words in his mouth.

"Lestrade, are you making some manner of intimate advances towards me?" he asks. 

Greg almost laughs. He looks down at his shoes, grinning, and wonders whether or not to risk it. He decides in the end that he will. 

"Not yet," he says. As he looks up, and meets Mycroft's gaze, he bites the corner of his lip. It worked on men like a dream when he was twenty. "Ask me again after a glass or two."

Mycroft's eyebrows lift towards his hairline. They stay there, startled, for quite some time.

"This doesn't happen to me," he notes, a little guarded, a little unsure, but still gazing at Greg, all the same.

Greg finds himself surprised. "Really?"

"No," Mycroft mutters. His hand has fallen still in Larry's fur. "No, I'm... not commonly propositioned."

Greg shrugs. "Can't see why not."

The colour seems to rise in Mycroft's cheeks. He shifts a little, glancing down at the sleeping cat in his lap, and strokes a thumb over Larry's ear. 

"May I think about it?" he requests.

"Sure," Greg says. _Easy, gently. Give you time._ "I should be home after seven. I've got a decent vintage Merlot somewhere, if it helps persuade you... and if you're too tired tonight, just come round another night. Open invitation." 

He idles back towards the doorway. Reaching it, he drops Mycroft a wink. 

"Life's short, mate," he says. "Treat yourself."

He watches Mycroft close his mouth. 

"I may do that, inspector. Thank you." His fingers flex in Larry's fur. "Good day."

**Author's Note:**

> Larry (pictured) has held the position of [Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office of the United Kingdom](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Larry_\(cat\)) since February 2011.


End file.
